Saturday, December 3, 2016

Write What You Know, Part 26

This is my first draft for NaNoWriMo 2016 novel Write What You Know. It's only a rough draft with very minimal editing and will, more than likely, contain, typos, grammatical errors, plot holes, or conflicting descriptions. It also includes notes to myself and excerpts from the novel the MC is writing that I try to indicate through various formatting that doesn't always translate well with my limited html skills. Furthermore, this particular novel is... there's no delicate way to put this... this novel is fucked up. So, especially in this rough draft crazed sort of NaNoWriMo way of writing, it may be difficult to read or follow.  I'm still posting it here because I want to shed more light on the process of writing to encourage and inspire other writers or readers who are interested. To learn more about this project, or my daily NaNoWriMo postings, please read Day 1-7.


Write What You Know, Part 26
By Stephanie Thompson,  1, 745 words

Read: Part 1Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25

Detective Riley was not finished with his case. There was something Fields was going to tell him before she (came to her senses) asked for her lawyer. HE just needed to figure out what that thing is.
The last thing she’d looked at was the gps map for the phone but that didn’t tell her anything really new, she knew where she’d been. So, what did she know that he didn’t know?
For one thing, she knew her life better than he did. He knew who this Helen Richards was and where he could find her. (She knew if she did it or not). And she knew her books.
He didn’t actually know if any of those things were going to be helpful at all but he wasn’t ready to let this go just yet and since the murders them selves offered no more leads, the only direction to go was in the direction of the suspect.

Cass picked up the phone and dialed is number. Maybe it was too soon to call him. Normally she would text but (I’m not mentioning this phone again so put something else here). He didn’t answer which was fine by her. She left a message.
“Hi (Does this dude have a name?) it’s Casse, we met last night and, I’m just really looking forward to seeing you again. Call me back when you get the chance.”
She hung up the phone. Then sat down and closed her eyes. There were two things on her agenda today. One was to make that phone call. The other was to talk to Helen. She didn’t want to, she didn’t want to give the little bitch the satisfaction of making her grovel down to her but she’d reached her limits of what she could achieve without her purse, without her phone. Helen had stepped out of bounds when she hid them anyway. But every once in a while everyone needed a reminder. Christie Fields was finding that out now, it was time for Helen to learn her lesson too.

That was the thing about time. It made you forget. It made the edges memory. It forces you forward, swiftly and relentlessly, and in that constant march forward you leave things behind.
They get dusty, rusty, fragile. And when you’re forced to reach back there and grab them, it’s painful to bend this way and something is bound to get broken (God mother fucking awful, just stop).
She hadn’t forgotten Helen but she did forget about the secrets. That there was someone who knew her secrets. Secrets she thinly veiled as fiction and printed in book form. Their secrets she printed. The secrets of a person who hated her with a violent fury. The kind of  stabbing violence with which the New York Ripper showed his or rather her victims.

“Each of the real life victims matches victims from my novels.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, I can’t be exactly sure about this, I’d need the books and the police files side by side to note the details. But that last victim, the blonde woman, she reminded me (OF SOMEBODY FROM THESE DAMN BOOKS). But not all of them get murdered, you know, in the book. Like (THE FICTIONAL PAINO PLAYER) she was actually a client of Nikki’s. Nikki helps her in the book but Helen killed her.”
Somehow her saying Nikki’s name out loud made all of the gears that started moving into motion last night in the police station finally click together completely. Now she was certain it was Cassandra. Not only was the only person who would stalk her, not only was she the only one who hated her enough to implicate her, but she was the only one who would connect the fictional Nikki to the real Jennifer Transom. Who would see right through Christie Fields and be determined to destroy her all of them.
“Cassandra did this,” she said to herself.
“Cassandra? You mean Helen. You’re sure? You’re willing to implicate your friend, your ex-girlfriend.”
“I don’t . . . It’s the only possibility. She had the phone, she’s stalked me in the past, she knows these characters and these books just as well as I do. And she really likes stabbing.
“But how, you’re name was changed, you weren’t sending her your books were you.”
“No, She know’s Nikki. And . . .and the stories started as therapy tools back when we were in  (SOMEPLACE) back when we shared everything. She knows me. She knows Nikki.”
“She knows Nikki?”
“You know what I mean. The character of Nikki is basically unchanged from my first stories I wrote in the hospital. And some of the things . . . Some of the dialogue were things we said to each other. . . In the love scenes.”
“But when you saw her two years ago she made no mention of reading the books or hating you enough to do all this? Did she ever mention the borrowed elements of your relationship?”

She’d thought about sending Helen her books. She was the only person she wanted to celebrate her good fortune with but she had the legal name change and the scars to prove that relationship was severed. Once again she had to tell herself that wasn’t her fault. All they had wanted was a real life but Helen was to sick to survive in it. Jennifer’s dream didn’t change just because Helen wasn’t there. It lost some of it’s light, it’s color, it’s purpose but she couldn’t go back to the hospitals and the drugs. She had to survive.  So she kept on surviving but she didn’t forget. And when she saw Helen on the streets of New York so many years later, she didn’t keep walking or pretending she didn’t see her. Instead she instinctually hugged her.
She didn’t have words to say when she saw her. It was like surprise and joy possessed her to action. She was lucky it wasn’t just someone who looked like Helen though if she was being honest she didn’t think a look alike would actually fool her. They had a bond Helen and Jennifer, and no number of names changes or personalities could fake that bond. Which is how she knew that she was hugging Cassandra and not Helen at all. She didn’t hug her back, she had no enthusiasm in her body, just emanating cold.
“Oh my god, Cassie, how’s it going?”
Cassandra couldn’t fake a good mood but she could fake a bad one.
“Not great. It’s been hard you know, outside of SOME HOSPITAL)”
“When did you get out?”
“I actually have to go?”
“Oh no let’s. . .let’s go in this cafe and have a coffee. Let’s catch up, can you  miss your thing?”
It was no coincidence that they’d met on the street. She had no ‘thing’ to miss. Just testing the waters. Perfect for jumping right in. “Sure,” she shrugged.

Cassie didn’t forget either but she also didn’t forgive. TEn year she was in that state hospital. State hospitals were hell. Full of stupid useless people, patients and staff alike. The patients were barely vegetables or too crazy to have good conversation unless you too cared to scream about whatever bat shit fears of the criminally insane. That staff were under funded and over jaded and usually armed with next to nothing but their good intentions. Cassie fucking hated good intentions.
10 years because of that faithless, lying whore. She wasn’t going to let her get away.
In those early days it was hard. She could see no way to get to her. She did’t just want to kill her now, she wanted to annihilate her utterly so that when people spoke of Jennifer Transom in the future it was only terms of tragedy and crumbs. She would destroy anything and everything about her and what she loved.
She thought about it for a long time. A long, long, time. And she almost wavered. Nearly gave up. Then she was in the meager room they called a library and found ‘NRaged. IT was odd to her that it should be there. Inappropriate given the clientele. Likely to incite violence or unclean thoughts for a weaker patron. For Cassandra herself it was a sign. Like a present from the cosmos, rewarding her patience and blessing her mission. But at first it just looked like a trashy novel.
It was when she read the blurb that she saw what it really was. A breadcrumb of a clue. She read the book in that room in two days. It only took that long because she didn’t want to bring It out lest someone decide she shouldn’t be reading or if anyone else discover the secret. The secret that Christie Fields was so obviously Jennifer Transcom, a crazy just like her. Though you wouldn’t think it if you read about the author.
Christie Fields is a blah blah normal. This is her first novel. Midwestern girl with an over active imagination. Something Something something. No family, No pets nothing to kill in her life.
Despite that she knew exactly how to destroy Jennifer. After years of waiting, it had fallen right in her lap. She’d always craved normalcy. Sanity. Cass would be more than happy to take that away from her.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said to the records machine. (Figure out if this is just a computer or microfiche or whatever the fuck) He’d been saying that a lot lately as a bunch of tiny pieces started to fall in place.
First of all, Helen Rodgers was a real person. A real dangerous person. A person with a violent past. She showed up the first time in Christie’s own file. He went home and scoured her records. He drank two coffees and a red bull and maybe didn’t blink at all. He read it all in chronological order, then he read it in reverse.
What she’d said about Helen was true. At various times in different state medical records, Jennifer was linked with a Helen or Cassandra, usually being disobedient or intractably linked. She was only in one police report associated with Fields though. When Helen tried to kill her.
In the office today he wanted more direct information on Helen Rodgers. He found another police report where she tried to kill someone else. And the where was one more thing of note on the computer.
“Seriously, I be fucking damned,” he said when he saw it.



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